The Long and Winding Road

You can see for miles. Roads stretch out before you with very little to obstruct the view. Over the open prairie, the sky's big and the earth gently heaves and sighs. It's beautiful and I've grown to love it.

On our way to Gavin's Point Dam over the July 4th weekend, we drove over hills and through dales that actually twist and turn so you can't always see where the road leads. I found myself looking down the byways and wondering what was around the bend. One little road, for some reason, seemed magical. It looked lovely and mysterious and like it could only hold treasures.

In my younger years, I'm quite sure I saw my future through those same curious, hopeful eyes; anticipating the best kind of magic. But at some point in my life, I'm not even sure when or how it happened, my view changed. What lay beyond the bend became something I feared. Instead of hopefully trusting that life (or more aptly the Giver of Life) would be full of ups and downs and twists and turns that eventually always lead to someplace lovely, I started believing that danger lurked in the unknown places.

Maybe it's because not knowing what's next makes life not only unpredictable but messy. When Brad's feeling out of control over something in his life, he quotes Steve Martin from Parenthood: "I don't like messy." I don't know if any of us like messy, but at some point we all have to accept that it's part of life and we can either 1) live with it begrudgingly, 2) keep trying to manage and contrive and control and drive everyone-including ourselves- crazy or C) Look beyond the mess and enjoy the journey despite the uncertainty.

Learning to Kneel

Two and a half hours of sheer, unadulterated happiness.

Dancing and singing under the Minnesota night sky with 60,000 others, my heart overflowed. Song after familiar song rang out into the sky and sank deep into my soul. Even in the driving rain*, the spirit remained undiminished and the energy level ramped up. I soaked up every second of my once in a lifetime concert and each time I raised my hands and voice to heaven, the cross on the soaring spire of our unconventional church (aka "the claw") reminded me of even more.

Moment Of Surrender

I tied myself with wire
To let the horses roam free
Playing with the fire
Until the fire played with me

The stone was semi-precious
We were barely conscious
Two souls too smart to be
In the realm of certainty
Even on our wedding day

We set ourselves on fire
Oh God, do not deny her
It’s not if I believe in love
If love believes in me
Oh, believe in me

At the moment of surrender
I folded to my knees
I did not notice the passers-by
And they did not notice me

I’ve been in every black hole
At the altar of the dark star
My body’s now a begging bowl
That’s begging to get back, begging to get back
To my heart
To the rhythm of my soul
To the rhythm of my unconsciousness
To the rhythm that yearns
To be released from control

I was punching in the numbers at the ATM machine
I could see in the reflection
A face staring back at me
At the moment of surrender
Of vision over visibility
I did not notice the passers-by
And they did not notice me

I was speeding on the subway
Through the stations of the cross
Every eye looking every other way
Counting down ’til the pain would stop

At the moment of surrender
Of vision over visibility
I did not notice the passers-by
And they did not notice me

*It rained for over an hour. Not sprinkles. Not gentle summer rain. Pouring, torrential, all clothes including underwear drenched and wringing wet rain. Memorable and awesome.

Good Grief

Precious in the sight of the LORD
is the death of his faithful servants. ~Psalm 116:15

The white haired organist played the old hymns. Flowers in shades of pink adorned the chapel. People spoke in hushed tones as they dabbed away tears. Friends and family gathered to say good bye and celebrate life.

It's a scene played out over and over again and yet, when it's your mother, father, brother or friend, it's no longer a common occurance because now...now it's personal.

She lived a long, full life. Sitting in the pew, listening to adoring sons and loving grandchildren, you might think it was a perfect life. But anyone who lives knows there's no such thing even for this lovely woman. Blessed, faith-filled and faithful yes; but not without hurt, tragedy and pain. And yet, through it all, she loved God and her family well. Passing on a legacy of strength, loyalty and trust in her Maker, her funeral honored her story but more importantly pointed everyone in the chapel to the Giver of that legacy.

Several thoughts struck me as I sat in the church during this sacred moment simultaneously mourning and celebrating.

What would she think of her own funeral?
What would my kids say about me when I die?
What would they laugh about?
Would memories spark hurt or anger about me or would love truly cover the multitude of my sins?
Would the funeral be more about me or the One to whom I belonged?

When I ordered flowers for the service, I told my talented florist friend that the most distinguishing trait about the deceased was her faith and trust in God. I couldn't think of hobbies she had or what she loved to do. I could only think of Who she loved (well, that and the fact that she regularly prayed for the Twins--yes, the baseball team--but I didn't want a Twinkies floral arrangment).

What would someone tell a florist about me?
At the graveside, the pastor asked the family to say just one word that described their mom and grandma.

Selfless.

Loving.

Faithful.

When I'm gone, what will those closest say about me? Will they struggle to find appropriate words or will the praises come out fast and furious like they did yesterday for this lovely, dearly loved woman?
What would I want them to say?

What do you want those nearest and dearest to you to say...

Marion R. Solfelt 6.27.1924~5.24.2011

Don't let the sun...

I've read Little Women so many times, the back is worn and many of the pages dog-eared. But no matter how familiar the story, I'm stilled moved, convicted and touched by it. One time, reading in bed late at night, I started sobbing. Brad asked what was wrong and I slobbered through tears Beth died!
But, you've read it before, you know she dies came the quizzical response. I had no answer, just more tears as I continued reading. That's what it does to me.

As I cozied up with my fuzzy blanket, hot chocolate and a storm raging outside, the touching story of the four dear sisters carried me to tears again. No, it wasn't Beth's untimely death that provoked the flood. It was Jo's unforgiveness towards Amy after the younger sibling burns her prized possession: her manuscript. After the incident, Marmee (their mom) admonishes Jo to forgive her sister and "not let the sun go down on your anger". Jo dismisses her mother's wise advice and allows the anger to fester. Later, when they go ice skating, Jo knows that Amy didn't hear the warning about the thin ice and doesn't inform her or even stop her as she glides out toward danger. If you haven't read the book (which is a shame and you really should read it even if you're a guy) I have to tell you that Amy falls through the ice but is saved (thank you Lauri) and there is sweet reconciliation between sisters. Jo, though still prone to rash behavior, never again lets the sun go down without forgiving.

That's when I started crying.
No one else knows the anger, bitterness, envy or secret grievances we carry around with us.
No one knows when we go to bed, night after night, angry for real or perceived wrongs.
Sometimes, people can guess by words we say or how we respond to certain situations, but no one really knows.
Yet, that anger or unforgiveness or envy or jealousy or whatever we harbor, festers like an infected wound.
Sometimes those around us are hurt by it, but most often, we're the ones who suffer the most from our unforgiveness.

Friday, a beautiful young soul was lost in a tragic car accident. There was no warning. No time to say goodbye or one last I love you or please forgive me. One moment she breathed oxygen, the next she stood with her Savior in another world.

The older we get the more obvious it is that life is short and unpredictable. Each day begins and you have no idea how it will end...sitting together in front of another episode of Mythbusters or mourning over a casket.

Forgive while you can.
Say I love you while you're able.
Don't let the sun go down on your anger.

Near Death Experience.

My grandpa died when I was 4. He was big and tall and had a black patch over one eye. A stroke patient before his 55th birthday (and long before I was even born), he walked with a cane and couldn't speak. Needless to say, as a little girl,he scared me. But laying there in that hospital bed with his wife and daughters gathered around, he didn't garner my fear but my pity.

I remember sitting quietly on my mom's lap until Grandma whispered through tears "He's gone". My mom and aunts each kissed his cheek and stood in the institutional gray room silently weeping. I remember a few moments later (or what seemed like a few moments, but I guess in reality, it must have been a much longer time) watching the hearse pull out onto the street and off to the funeral home. After that, I have no memories...not of a funeral or memorial service or of what we did after he died. I only remember the death.

Flash forward a few years to our house on East End Street. The police showed up at our door. I don't remember the time or day or the weather, but I remember the panic in both my parents eyes. Dad grabbed his bag and left. My mom, tears in her eyes broke into fervent prayer. Suicide, they said. So young, they said. So much life left, they said. Her kids were close to my age and now they were motherless.
Finishing up my freshman year in college, I came home for a few days to regroup before starting my summer job. As soon as I walked in the door, my mom told me she wasn't doing well. Moments later, the phone rang. My best friend's voice sounded tired and sad and all she said was "she's gone". We got off the phone and I walked the few blocks to her house. Her aunt was cleaning. Everything was quiet and strange and even the house seemed to know she was gone. We hugged. We cried. Then we talked about everything and nothing. The funeral, the first one I'd attend as an "adult" upset me. Why were people eating and smiling and talking? Didn't they know she was gone? Didn't they get it? So young. So much life left.

Since then I've been near death many times. Family members. Close friends. Strangers. Tragedy. Cancer. Accidents. Natural causes. Old. Young. Too young. Too fast. Too slow. At some point, it doesn't matter how or when death comes, just that it comes.

Does it make it easier when there's the hope and certainty of heaven? The obvious answer is yes.

But missing the person is still just as real.

The grief feels just as raw.

The reality of day to day without them is just as empty.

The aching arms of a mother longing to feel the weight of her baby.

The quiet, cold loneliness of a spouse-less bed.

The missed conversations with a dear sister.

The advice never to be given by a wise mother.

The dreary prospect of another meal eaten alone.

On the phone with a widower last night, the reality and intensity of his pain was obvious. Does he believe his sweetheart is in heaven? Yes. Does he have the hope of seeing her again? Absolutely. But even after time, his suffering lingers and his lonely heart hurts and longs for her.

I love a line from the Sara Groves song What Do I Know?: "Death can be so inconvenient. You try to live and love and it comes and interrupts."

Interrupts.

In Between

Earth's crammed with heaven, And every common bush afire with God: But only he who sees takes off his shoes. ~Elizabeth Barrett Browning

On the cusp of dawn, leaving the night behind, but not quite daybreak.
The in between.
Mysterious. Dark and light mingled and entwined and, for a few brief moments, inseparable.
Wide awake during the in between, praying, thinking, I strangely had a flashback to college.
Religion 101. Junior year--yes I realize that is late in a college career to take a general course and the registrar and prof were not happy with me, but I was and still am of the opinion that the point of a liberal arts education is to have a diverse, balanced course of study all the way through school...ok, sorry about that...stepping off my soap box now and back to the blog... Religion 101...junior...oh yeah...
Willis P. De Boer. Close to retirement, lanky with what I thought at the time were unusually long appendages (now I know that it's just part of being Dutch) and a slight brogue, he gestured with those far reaching fingers and said we were the in "the already but the not yet".
The already but the not yet.
The in between.
Like seeing a mountain range far off we recognize the majesty and vastness, but don't really begin to understand their scope until we travel into them. The view is different from the foothills to the passes to the mountain tops to the high plateaus. Discovery is around every corner and rarely looks the way we expected it to.
When Jesus came to earth, He ushered in God's Eternal Kingdom. It's already here. But as is painfully obvious, the fulfillment of that Kingdom seems forever in the future with, at times, little evidence of its existence. For the past 2000 years we, the human race, have been journeying through the mountains of the already but the not yet.

Oh, we're in awe of the beauty and rugged delicacy. But we're fickle people and even the majesty of the mountains becomes mundane and all we see are the rocks and foot falls. Sometimes we're fearful that any misstep could lead to disaster. Not always aware that what we're in is so much bigger than us, we continue on.

I know I've felt lost in the mountains...in the in between. Caught in the middle...wanting desperately to get through or at least to a peak so I can get a bigger view and maybe see how much farther there is to go. Caught. Between night and day.
But then there are those moments, when beauty or art or music or communion with loved ones, or acts of kindness and generosity, or the realization of sacrifice transcends what we can grasp and is something felt not thought, and we get a glimpse of the already but the not yet. Signs of the coming dawn.
Life in the in between.

***forgive mixing metaphors and being a bit melodramatic...remember I wrote it in the wee hours and after reading Bronte.***

Arriving.

In my early 20's I naively thought I was almost there. I could see it and touch it and ignorantly (and arrogantly) assumed I'd reach it by 30. Delusions of spiritual grandeur filled my head. God was near; I was a tested, approved workman for Jesus and I was not ashamed. I knew I needed to grow some, but certainly I'd arrive within a decade.

In my 30's I came to the realization that I hadn't reached it but someday I would. It was out there--waiting for me. Struggling through ups and downs of marriage and child rearing, dealing with moves and job changes and all the stuff of life, I felt like a veteran. Surely a few more "life lessons" and I'd be there. There: at that magical place of faith where communion with God is easy, vibrant, natural and dieing to oneself is the norm. Sure, there would still be things to work on, but God would show me and we'd correct them and we'd keep moving ever forward.

Now, as I approach my 44th birthday (still 5 months away but looming in the near future) I don't think it's possible. I don't think we ever arrive. I think we're forever in the process of arriving...and by that I mean sometimes we're standing still.

In this life of faith, we never arrive. There's never a point of maturity in any area that won't still need growth. And not just tweaking, but full out growth. We don't/can't master anything. 10 years ago, I might have conceded to this idea but I know I would have assumed that if you don't "arrive" or at least keep moving forward at a steady, fast-ish pace, it's your fault.

But is it? Are we to blame for slow growth, stand-stills, detours and delays? Certainly, yes, at times we're the ones who inhibit growth. But always? I'm tempted to say that God holds us back knowing what we can handle and when we can handle it so He allows for growth to be slow or even at times non-existent. But I'm not sure that's true either.

Perhaps the fact that we'll never arrive is simply because we have an unlimited capacity for growth.

Who knows. All I know is that just when I think I'm pulling into the station I realize I'm actually pulling out.

Surprised.

The whole concert surprised me. I knew I would know a lot of the songs, but I didn't expect the band to perform so well or be so real and authentic. They pulled me in and held me with their music, lyrics and stories. They focused on God and faith in a genuine, loving way without all the cliches and syrupy crap that's often found at Christian concerts.

But their encore, that was the real surprise.
The familiar tune rang out and my heart leaped. With the building haunt of the keyboard, the repeating, echoing electric guitar and the explosion of bass my excitement grew. Then the words. Words that struck me years ago, the first time I heard them, were calling me back and reminding me once again of more. I didn't expect to hear it here. I didn't expect to ever hear it live. And yet, there I stood, surrounded by the starry night and 100,000 other souls at a Christian music festival listening to a distinctly Christian Contemporary band (MercyMe) yet hearing one of my favorite secular songs by my all time favorite group.

Taken back, surprised, it took me a moment to process it all but as soon as I did I jumped to my feet and worshipped.
One more call to my heart. One more reminder that this world is not my home.

Where The Streets Have No Name
(U2)
I wanna run, I want to hide
I wanna tear down the walls
That hold me inside
I wanna reach out
And touch the flame
Where the streets have no name

I want to feel, sunlight on my face
I see the dust cloud disappear
Without a trace
I want to take shelter
From the poison rain
Where the streets have no name

Where the streets have no name
Where the streets have no name
We're still building, then burning down love
Burning down love, and when I go there
I go there with you, it's all I can do

The city's a flood and our love turns to rust
We're beaten and blown by the wind
Trampled in dust
I'll show you a place
High on a desert plain
Where the streets have no name

Where the streets have no name
Where the streets have no name
We're still building, then burning down love
Burning down love, and when I go there
I go there with you, it's all I can do

© POLYGRAM INT. MUSIC PUBL. B.V.;

Sometimes

sometimes...
when the silent world awaits the first glimmers of sunlight, I sense it.
when I hear a baby giggle or see her precious face-filling smile, it's near enough to touch.
when my heart is almost breaking but doesn't, I'm reminded of it.
when the music takes over my senses and I'm transported by the sound, it's right there.
when hurt, death and destruction loom heavy on the horizon but redemption and grace rain down, I know it's real.
when the full moon fills the night sky, I look for it.

when grieving parents hold onto hope, it becomes an actuality.
when surrounded by loved ones sharing life, I know it's value.
when beauty enraptures me, I'm reminded that I can't hold it like a greedy child with candy.

when Truth drowns out all the other voices in my life, I long for it.

when I'm caught up in the tangible, surrounded by the pressures of the present, I hears it's echos calling me away...
calling me to lose this world to gain it...

It's so close I can touch it, yet so elusive it feels impossible.
It's sings a song deep in my being and reminds me that this world is not my home.


"What do people really get for all their hard work? I have seen the burden God has placed on us all. Yet God has made everything beautiful for its own time. He has planted eternity in the human heart, but even so, people cannot see the whole scope of God’s work from beginning to end. So I concluded there is nothing better than to be happy and enjoy ourselves as long as we can. And people should eat and drink and enjoy the fruits of their labor, for these are gifts from God.
And I know that whatever God does is final. Nothing can be added to it or taken from it. God’s purpose is that people should fear him. What is happening now has happened before, and what will happen in the future has happened before, because God makes the same things happen over and over again." Ecclesiastes 3:9-15